


blades, fire forged

by kinpika



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Backstory, M/M, Pre-Canon, Young Rebels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: “You truly don’t know why you came here, do you? I doubt it would be solely for my company.”"You got me."They learn a phrase, and hold it close. It's the only thing to remind them of their purpose, no matter how bitter the taste.





	

Ulaz is young, but not as young as what he could have been. He only knows that he is in their eyes because of the way the soldiers stare at him, consider him. Trying to make him feel like he was inferior, uneducated. _Young._ Knowledge or death, they spout, as if should threaten. But Ulaz instead focuses on how they stand, so few in number, but so strong, as if there was instead an entire fleet. An incredible feat for such a quiet group. Hands clasped behind their backs, it is only the occasional tail that bristles and moves. If anything, it actually gives them some sort of sentience, some reliability. Makes the situation a little more real. 

_Knowledge or death._

A phrase that is repeated with reverence, voices echoing, bouncing on the carved out walls. Louder, closer, like there were several hundred men and not a little over twenty. Although, Ulaz has to pause, eyes scanning the way the wall seems to curve upwards. Perhaps they were hiding, watching. Judge, jury and executioner. When he had first snuck out on the cargo ship, he had been warned that he may not return. Only just now, it struck him how the man in the mask was not lying.

Eyes finally falling, Ulaz sees the man beside him. They were in the same training squad, back in the main fleet. The name doesn’t come to Ulaz, but there is no reason to linger on it. Ulaz decides to focus on how the man’s eyes were narrowed, ears pulled back taught. There was no fear in this man, as opposed to the huddled crowd of others, bound together under the name ‘Galra’, even if their own people had long since lost their original names. 

Eventually, Ulaz looks back over the man before them. Still talking, deeply and fiercely, passionately, about their cause. Why they had been chosen. His name is Kolivan and he is terrifying in his devoutness to his cause. Had Ulaz not seen Zarkon — only once — in all his fury, he may have thought this man may be the cause of all their deaths.

Ulaz realises he doesn’t know what to think anymore.

 

 

They are bound together in some sort of ritualistic hunt. Thace does not know what his chances are, of getting a man he had actually sparred with once, but they seemed rather slim. He is thankful, for once in his life, even if a sword brushes past. Ulaz is the man’s name, and he’s only full of hand waves and an awfully pinched expression that does not wane, even as he is struck by one of the Blades. 

Keep going, he thinks, as they move on. Knowledge or death, he muses, another foot forward. Everything has begun to tunnel, a focus on the door at the end, a promise of seeing the end. If someone were to stop him, to ask if he knew what he was doing, Thace would say ‘no’. Of course he did not know. Was this the right thing to do? Was there another way?

Questions he had been asking himself since the day he had been pulled from his parents. There are gaps in his memory that he is sure he never wants to fill, and a resignation fills him where it shouldn’t. But then these people came along, and Thace had never felt so much _relief_. That was the word for it — alongside _promise_ , that perhaps, they may be part of something better. 

Thace misses the foot that strikes him in the ribs.

 

Vaguely, he realises he is being lifted. A grunt at his ear, and someone is holding him upright as they move on. Move on to what? his mind asks, frightened. What was behind the next door?

 

 

“Ulaz, I… thank you. Again.”

Stiff. That’s what he would say the man is (and that his face is always contorted like he could smell something awful, but Thace kept that thought to himself). “It was nothing.”

“You saved me.”

Thace was not sure what he had expected, but the man’s mouth twists, and it was almost a smile. “Again. Nothing.”

 

 

 

 

It’s as if the entire fleet was alive. As the ships thrummed, Ulaz kept his hand against the metal. Something was wrong, enough that he could feel his skin crawl at just slightest touch alone. A part of him, nasty and sour, thought it to be the witches. They _knew_ all. They _saw_ all. As if an organisation could keep itself so hidden from Zarkon for so long. Since the beginning.

Ulaz knows he should not be thankful when he hears the screams, not recognising a voice amongst them. Poor foolish adventurers, caught up as the fleet barrelled forward. More disposable bodies for the gladiatorial rings. Whilst he himself had never had the luxury of even sitting at the back, having only just made it high enough up the chain of command to set foot in the fleet, Ulaz wasn’t complaining. 

He was barely holding onto his position as research assistant. All he had to do was make sure one of the surgeons didn’t drink himself into a stupor and that the other one didn’t try anything on himself. 

Finally, Ulaz removes his hand, just when he begins to hear the guards drawing closer. Maybe that was why he was considered useful. Only because he had access to medical files ( _illegal_ access) and two of the most powerful people in this particular ship.

Another cry. Someone being dragged through the corridor. Ulaz pulls at the end of his hair, working through knots as they all go past, the person kicking and screaming. Begging. Sees Ulaz and please please help me what did I do _please_.

When they are gone, far far away, does Ulaz unfold himself. “I need a haircut,” is all he says, to no one at all. 

 

 

 

Thace’s contact on the fleet is Antok, and he had never met the man until the month prior in the middle of nowhere in particular. Truly, the man was nothing impressive, and did not stand out as they stood side by side at the ring. Perhaps, the only strange thing was the tail, as Thace had been under the impression they had long since been bred out. But that question was kept to himself, as he watches it flick out the corner of his eye. Fascinating. 

“You will need to stay in touch with the researcher.”

“Ulaz?”

Practically shivering in response to such a casual drop of his apparent partner’s name. Thace could understand why it was so rare to see tails amongst the Galra now — too much was given away. 

“Do not speak so lightly, even here.”

“This would be one of the best places to talk.”

“There are always ears.”

A quick scan of their immediate vicinity offers Thace some hopes of easing the man a little. “A man three people to your left is a lieutenant. A boot licker, will report anything astray and bring in reinforcements. Five to my right is a woman who could cause quite a scene if you insult her markings. Two behind is a beast of person who would wrestle the woman if pointed in the right direction.”

Antok does not speak, and Thace assumes he too is surveying the area. Gives him time to study some more, look for any masks in the crowd. Those were the hardest ones to avoid, but they always had been. Thace had only managed to get a look inside those masks once, and break down how the system worked. How they recorded for hours, collecting and filing data. Except he triggered the self destruct mechanism and it blew up in his hands, destroying several months worth of evidence and burning half the hair off his arms. A year later, and the hair never grew back quite right, skin still contorted. 

Clicking his tongue, Thace finally looks back. “Satisfied? There are also some other people we could antagonise, should we need to break this meeting up.”

“You are very good at making plans. Your superior was not lying, then.”

Thace knows better than to push Antok into saying _which_ superior was talking about him. “Preparation should always be considered. Especially in such delicate times.”

There’s a noise that leaves Antok that sounds vaguely like a snort, and his tail finally relaxes. “True.”

“So, this researcher…”

 

 

_“Keep an eye on him.”_

 

 

There had been no summon to any deep corner of the fleet in so long, Ulaz was beginning to think it to all be a fever dream. That he just dreamt up some sort of resistance, because there was no way such brave people existed. Gritting his teeth, he punches again, the dummy shaking under the brute force. Ulaz was not brave enough, either, so it definitely did not exist.

Murmuring in the back of the facility seemed to simmer down, somewhat, as the doors opened. A sinking feeling in his gut didn’t have him ready to turn around, but Ulaz commanded his feet and they listened.

“Thace.”

“Ulaz.”

Eventually, the chatter picks up once more, but Ulaz notes all the stares. Not a safe place at all for them to be seen together. Why Thace had left the safety of his ship to venture into these parts of the fleet was beyond him, and it left a sour taste in the back of his throat. Did something happen? 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Absolute silence greets him, as Thace’s eyes zip around the room. Ulaz realises, with a certain amount of amusement, that Thace did not know why he came to this ship at all. Hands on his hips, Ulaz blows at a piece of hair in an attempt to get it off his face, before looking back. “You truly don’t know why you came here, do you? I doubt it would be solely for my company.”

People were still watching. If anyone asked later, Ulaz would tell them straight that they had trained together, years ago. Kept in contact, despite the differing positions and ranks. A believable story, considering a certain amount of camaraderie was maintained amongst most of the soldiers. Most, Ulaz had to remind himself, as he kept his eyes on Thace. There were still so many things about this particular soldier that had yet to present himself.

“You got me.” Thace laughs it off, and Ulaz joins. Truly, a pair of old friends to anyone who thought otherwise. Strain around the eyes and corners of his mouth. Marmora business, or army? Ulaz filed each piece of information away to sort through later, noting how Thace’s ears twitched as a soldier to the far end of the room boomed with laughter (truly, Ulaz was so thankful to not have such an incriminating body part that would give away nerves).

“Perhaps a spar, then?”

Thace almost seemed surprised. And then completely surprised when Ulaz kicks his legs out from underneath him, and he lands on his ass in front of thirteen strangers. He blinks, once twice, before pushing himself to stand. Those around them seem to take notice of how they were in the middle of the mats now, arms raised. 

“Do try to keep up this time.” It was a struggle to keep the tease out of his voice. Truly one of the hardest things he’s had to do in a long time. As he ducks at the first strike from Thace, Ulaz truly couldn’t remember a time where he had felt so light. How strange, is the last thing he thinks.

 

When Thace’s face meets the mat for a fifth time, Ulaz does not focus on how the surrounding soldiers pass around credit chits, complaints, jokes. What he focuses on is the weight of Thace’s hand in his own, and how he had never seen the other man smile so genuinely.

 

 

 

“When I say watch the researcher, I do not mean _seduce_ him.”

Thace chokes on his wine. Antok continues to look unamused. “I wasn’t—”

“His position is precarious and _vital_. We need him. Do not threaten this because you cannot stop yourself.”

Wisely, Thace chooses to ignore the implications about his own person. “You’re using him. He’s devoted to the cause, you know. Just ask him.”

Apparently, Antok does not appreciate the confrontation, nor the suggestion. Casually, Thace continues to sip at his wine, as if he had not said a word.

“Someone reported what happened in one of the training rooms the other day—”

“— _You_ fight him. He’s strong and quick, faster than me—”

“—Do not speak!”

Jaw audibly clicking shut, Thace finally notices that Antok was practically shaking. But he could not help himself, as despite how quickly he had always managed to climb the ranks, it was his own smart mouth that happened to reappear at the worst of times. “Ulaz will not threaten the next few years. _Trust_ him. Trust _me_. I will keep watching him but he knows what he is doing.”

“If he fails, it’s all on you.”

Antok doesn’t wait for another smart reply, as he begins to merge into the crowd, until Thace could no longer see his head. Staring into his wine glass, he sighs. “Don’t tell me like I don’t know.”

 

 

 

Spars become habitual. Like a promise Ulaz makes with Thace, whenever they both happen to be on the ship at the same time. Thace is growing, keeping up with Ulaz enough to have him stumble back more than once. Oddly confusing to finally have someone at a level that threatens his personal safety. Ulaz had never felt such a personal offence, until Thace penetrates his personal bubble, a safety net of himself, and floors him. 

Carefully, Ulaz had been constructing his own world so carefully, to include Galran forces, unorthodox research, unintended backstabbing and now a rebellion force. A limb in each sort of world, ready to defend and fight. But nothing had prepared him for staring at the ceiling of the third ship of the research fleet, cheers and boos erupting around him. Such a surreal experience, that Ulaz can’t quite tell if only seconds had passed, or hours.

Finally, a hand appears in his peripherals.

 

Ulaz stares at his hand, measuring him. Even if the Marmorans had spent the last few months doing the exact same thing, Thace felt like this was slightly more personal, slightly more exposing. But, finally, he feels the weight in his hand. He is the one pulling Ulaz to his feet for the first time.

 

 

 

Data is traded in the smallest of chips, buried into the undersides of nails, threaded into beads in hair. A tooth that fell loose when he took a particular beating back in his green days was now a drive, buzzing hard enough it left his gums numb. Ulaz walks through doors, labs, collecting every inch of information he could as he passes through. Such a strange thought, to consider himself a walking hub, ready to upload to various contacts when the call was made.

The lead surgeon does not notice that his file on quintessence goes missing when his coffee and hard liquor is swapped out for more liquor and several tranquillisers. His assistant has a severe case of bloating around the abdomen, and refuses to leave their room in a definite amount of fear of what could happen next. Ulaz is quick and efficient, as he swipes the pads of his fingers over screens, flicking through proposed ideas. 

Gladiatorial battles, quintessence, experimental tests to build—

The doors open as the computers blip out. Someone walks in (Haz, Kalter, something or other, one of Ulaz’s newly admitted attendants), asking who was there. They don’t notice Ulaz practically walk by.

 

 

 

“Do you believe me now when I say he’s dedicated?”

Thace never thought he’d see the day that Antok had to admit he was wrong, but he could enjoy how uncomfortable the man seemed to be at admitting it. 

“He’s risking a lot, seeing as he’s the only one there.” Thace doesn’t stop talking. Filling in the gaps. They had so many men on the main fleet, and more out of reach, and yet only Ulaz crawling through the research sector. “You should’ve cut him some slack from the beginning.”

Antok does not respond, and Thace deduces it’s because he’s not sure what to say. Good, he thinks. Shuts the man up to stop acting like he could foresee some horrible future. “Tell him ‘good work’ at least once. It makes a difference.”

“Is this experience talking, or something else?”

“You can continue to think I feel anything towards Ulaz other than a brother-in-arms, _fine_. But don’t think that impacts my effort.”

It had been a long time since he had been stared down at so harshly. Reminded him of when he first met the Blades, and how all those eyes seemed to appear in the shadows. Perhaps he hadn’t given Antok nearly enough credit. Especially when those eyes of his read so clearly into his words and the grasping at straws, to keep himself separate. “Knowledge, or death.”

Thace does not need time to think over what Antok was suggesting, and stares off, as yet another man died in the battle below.

 

 

 

Ulaz had not seen Thace in quite some time. Whilst there had been no official statement that he had met an untimely death, Ulaz did not think he was wrong to think such a thing were possible. After all, the man was slow to block on his left, and his right leg had a hint of a limp, as if he had suffered a fall, or break, at some point in his life. Cataloguing the faults in Thace’s person, it only just begins to dawn on Ulaz how much he had learnt about his partner. The depth of information, and yet how little he actually knew.

Flicking through reports, Ulaz ignores his attendants cries at one thing or other. Probably to do with the surgeon. Back to drinking after the last _thing_ they were ordered to create. Physiologically, it was not possible, and they had told the witches such a thing, but that damn woman was so insistent. And they were supposed to act surprised when the acid secreted by the glands in the arms bled into the major system, ultimately killing the poor creature quickly, thankfully. Ulaz had already injected a mostly unnoticeable poison into everything, something that would lull it to sleep and kill it peacefully, a precautionary movement for a ‘just in case this worked’.

No one should have to suffer through what was ordered, but it was the unfortunate reality, and Ulaz considered drinking too (he could already hear the lecture from Thace, even if the man liked his drink just as much). 

“Sir?”

With a grunt, Ulaz knows he can’t continue to ignore the problem any longer. Closing the reports, he turns in his chair. “What?”

“There’s a man at the door. Says he needs to speak to you urgently.”

“We’re busy.”

“A soldier, sir. Looked to be pretty hurt.”

“We’re not the goddamn medbay.” But Ulaz stands, because he had to act like he cared enough to see what was going on. At his heels the attendant practically sits, and Ulaz knows he won’t amount to anything. Sad, considering he had quite a brilliant mind — but his weak will made him an easy target.

Hand against the panel, Ulaz readies his worst insult, lips already curling into a snarl, when the door slides open.

“This isn’t the— _Thace_?!”

 

It takes three of them to carry Thace carefully onto a bed. Ulaz has one of them double check to make sure that absolutely nothing would accidentally switch on and turn the man into some heinous creature, the other one to clear the surgeon out, before they set to work. 

 

 

In his hands is a warm cup. Thace doesn’t particularly like the smell of the drink, but Ulaz is watching him levelly, as if he were testing him. After all of Thace’s harping on about how he believed Ulaz was one of them, he didn’t want to be wrong and die by poison. So he drinks when Ulaz does, entertaining the thought of this potentially being a suicide pact.

“You nearly died on my operating table.”

“Well—”

“If you were so badly injured you should have reported to the medical facilities. Where your ship landed.”

“I—”

“It looks suspicious you coming over here like this.”

“Will you let me speak?”

Ulaz finally snaps his mouth shut, and Thace had never been so thankful for the silence. Reaching over, mindful of his stitches, he finds his bag. “I had to see you, simply because I didn’t want one of them rifling through my things.”

“What’s to say _I_ didn’t.”

“You are no ordinary soldier, Ulaz.”

Finding what he was looking for, Thace shifts back. In his lap was a blade, wrapped tightly. “If this had been found, it could have cost us everything.”

“This over a _knife_? Thace, honestly—”

“It’s yours.”

Thace holds it out, fingers wrapped carefully around the covered edge. This was the final test, as he had been told. If Ulaz failed this one, they were to find another route, another way. Termination was inevitable, and Antok had not skirted around the fact that Thace would likely be the one to do it (“You can get close to him. He _trusts_ you.”). Shaking it a little, it’s not until Ulaz lets out a huff, cup set down. Knife in hand. 

“Now what?”

“Awaken it.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“It was for me.”

“Thace, I think you forget that you have made it where others only dreamed.”

Ulaz grumbles, looking the knife over. It’s not until he’s unwrapping that he recognises the symbol, and seems to understand. They do not speak of it, the heaviness hanging over them. Thace watches expectantly, hopefully, knowing that someone had likely tapped into the video feeds, was recording this now. _Please awaken._

“I don’t know how.”

“I made peace with myself. Forged a path.”

“Thace…”

“I was taken from my parents, Ulaz. You know this. But I have learnt from the pain, and know what to do next.”

“It’s not that simple… to simply let go of _that_.”

That being him. Who he is. Was. Thace’s eyes dart to Ulaz’s hair, far longer than it had been when they first met. It trailed down his back now, no longer bound back tightly against his head. Only once had Thace been privy to running his fingers through it, but he did not think of that now. “I’m sorry.”

“All it takes is a ‘simple’ action, and I continue to live. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. This is just what I’ve been told.”

“Of course.” A long suffering sigh. “Knowledge or death, right.” Bitter, dull taste at the back of his mouth.

Thace does not repeat the sentiment back. 

 

 

Ulaz raises the knife.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always thought of the galran empire to basically be like the roman empire where like... yeah its mostly One group of ppl, but there are different cultures mixed in? so like some galra soldiers are super fluffy and others are quite thin and space elf-y y'know? and the marmora seem to make peace with giving themselves up for the sake of bringing down zarkon. like literally leaving their history. idk. 
> 
> sry this isn't rly romance-y i will do better next time... 
> 
> posted@[tumblr](http://hotlineaisui.tumblr.com/post/156715934510/blades-fire-forged)


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